


The Time Between

by fluffyquill



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: God bless Neil and Terry, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Mild Spoilers, Post-Bus Ride (Good Omens), Tennant and Sheen are literal angels FIGHT ME, and other mildly strong language, pairing can be read in different ways, rating for one use of the F word, semi-awkward confessions, small heaping of ANGST with fluff peppered here and there, someone please get me the blueprints for Crowley's flat, this fandom is sucking me back in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffyquill/pseuds/fluffyquill
Summary: Post-Bus Ride in Episode 6. (Mild spoilers)Neither of them is entirely sure what is going to happen now.





	The Time Between

Crowley didn’t remember much of the ride home.The Oxford bus had automatically taken an easterly turn towards London, the driver and its other passengers none the wiser to what changed.His head buzzed with the fading adrenaline and the rush of alcohol, and he wanted nothing more than to just sleep.

 

Beside him, Aziraphale held his hand, only partially intertwining their fingers as if afraid their superiors were still watching.

 

And they might have been.

 

But Crowley didn’t quite care.He was too keyed up to doze off, and he was too exhausted to carry a conversation, so he sat and silently watched the darkened scenery pass by them.So many lives lay slumbering, blissfully unaware of the catastrophic events that nearly ended them all.Perhaps it was better that way.

 

Another hour or so had passed by the time the bus began to approach the stop that sat just a block away from his flat in Mayfair.

 

“You coming, angel?” he asked.Aziraphale looked at him with weary gray-blue eyes, the stress of the past few days showing plainly on his face.Really, if he wanted to return to what remained of the bookshop, Soho wasn’t all that far away. 

 

The bus came to a hissing stop, and Crowley stood, keeping his palm open, allowing his companion the choice of either keeping hold of his hand, or letting go.Something sad sparkled behind Aziraphale’s expression, and he nodded ever so slightly.Crowley waited for him to rise from his seat, and then gently led him off the bus, across the abandoned street and down the back alley towards home.

 

(Calling it “home” might have been a stretch.Certainly, it was where he kept his things.More like a “den” or “lair.”)

 

But all the while, Aziraphale maintained a gentle grip on his fingers.

 

Silently, they made their way inside the building, up to the top floor, and Crowley opened the door with a flippant wave of his hand, having no energy to muster a snap.

 

“Watch yer step,” he muttered, sidestepping the jacket puddled on the floor just past the entry into his office.Aziraphale glanced down briefly at it, hopping over the discarded item with a worried frown. 

 

With a heavy sigh, Crowley set the empty wine bottle down on his desk.

 

“Can - Can I get ye anythin’?” he asked, his words slurring with fatigue. “V’got wine, whiskey… uhh, an’ some bourbon, I think…or coffee, if you’d prefer…”

 

“Oh, no thank you,” replied Aziraphale, slowly retracting his hand.Crowley’s skin felt startlingly cold at its absence.The demon flexed his fingers and turned, scratching the back of his head.

 

“Well,” Crowley sniffed, “I, personally, have had a shit day and now I’m gonna wash up.I reek of ashes an’ brimstone and who knows what else.If you change yer mind and somethin’ strikes yer fancy, help yerself.You know yer way ‘round the place.” He waved in the direction of the kitchen, past the angel statue in the hallway. “S’not like I’m gonna be drinkin’ all of it anytime soon if Hell has their way, and I don’t want to waste good alcohol.”

 

The angel stopped, his face stricken.

 

“Make yerself at home,” Crowley groused, heading down the hall to the bathroom.

 

Like the rest of his flat, it was large and dark gray - Aziraphale had once told him that it looked like a poorly-lit museum.(He personally liked to think of it as a modern, minimalist version of Wayne Manor.)A single, large lamp illuminated the room from overhead, as the skylight was dark in the cavernous space above.Several more plants sat in various spots on the floor and countertop. 

 

The shower was a massive, rectangular space without curtains or privacy glass.Lined with pieces of polished, dark stone, it appeared as though it had simply been carved into the side of the room, like a grotto.A single press of a button activated the LED lights in the shower, and water began to pour from the multiple rainfall panels above.

 

Getting undressed was exhausting, but miracling the grime away would have proved more taxing.Crowley only managed to get off his shoes, socks, jacket and glasses with fumbling fingers before saying, “Fuck it,” and stepped under the warm spray.

 

There was something calming and meditative about water beating against his worn body in a rhythmic staccato.The sensation and heat helped relax his tightly-wound muscles, but his nerves were still racing.

 

Crowley ran a shaking hand over his face.Dirt and soot ran down his skin in dark rivulets, vanishing against the dark tiles at his bare feet.

 

They had survived.

 

For one more day at least.

 

“Crowley?”

 

His back faced the entrance to the bathroom, and thus he didn’t see Aziraphale approach.But he knew that Aziraphale would be wringing his hands with worry.

 

And what a worrying sight he must be - clad in waterlogged clothes and hunched over in defeat.

 

Soft footsteps padded from behind, followed by a shaky sigh and the shuffling of fabric.Then, gentle hands took him by the arm, turning him around.The angel came to stand beside him under the showerhead, water soaking into his shirt and pants.His signature coat and vest were gone, draped haphazardly over the sink, as were his shoes and bowtie.

 

“Angel…” he croaked, his throat tightening.

 

“I didn’t want to be alone,” confessed Aziraphale, “And I rather think you didn’t want to be either.”

 

Swallowing back the rise of tears, Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer.Not enough for them to fall flush against one another, but close enough for Crowley to rest his forehead against his.The angel let his eyes flutter shut, scarcely daring to breathe at their close proximity.

 

“I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Crowley rasped, his throat still raw from the sheer amount of smoke inhalation he’d endured that afternoon.Nothing to do with emotions - not at all.Between the bookshop fire and the blazing Bentley, his vocal cords were almost roasted.

 

“After the fire, I…”

 

“I know, Crowley.I know.”

 

Crowley made a soft, wounded noise and Aziraphale fisted his hands in Crowley’s soaked henley, but didn’t dare pull him any closer.

 

“So…” The angel’s voice trembled ever so slightly. “…what do you think will become of us now?”

 

Crowley scoffed under his breath. “To be honest?I dunno.For you, expulsion from Earth maybe.Me?Execution is a guarantee.”

 

Aziraphale sucked in a breath, and met Crowley’s gaze.

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“They can’t execute you, Crowley.Not when we’re both guilty of the same crime.”

 

“Angel, unless you’ve dumped holy water on a Lord of Hell, the only thing you’re guilty of is having too big a heart and wanting to do the right thing.”

 

Aziraphale stilled in his arms, pulling back a little.

 

“Holy…?”

 

Crowley motioned with his head towards the main room. “That puddle of clothes by the front door?S’Ligur.I rigged a bucket with holy water when he’n Hastur came to ‘collect’ me for my crimes.”

 

Shock and understanding crossed the angel’s face.

 

“The thermos…”

 

“Yeah.Bought me some time.” Crowley sighed. “But it looks like I’m out of time now.An’ if I know Hastur, he’ll propose that I be dealt with in the same way, like some form of ‘poetic justice.’”

 

“But how will they acquire any?”

 

“The way I see it, Heaven and Hell are both pissed that they didn’t get their war, and if Hell asks for a measly bit o’ water to get rid of the one who cocked it up, they’ll be more than happy to provide them with it.”

 

Aziraphale swallowed, and Crowley’s eyes instinctually followed the movement of his throat.

 

“If Hell does ask for holy water…” Aziraphale murmured.

 

“Oh, they will.”

 

The angel gave him a gentle, chiding look. “…then Heaven will most certainly ask for something in return.Small favors and all that.”

 

“What the devil would they ask for?”

 

“Hellfire.”

 

Anger and heat surged through Crowley’s veins, and red flooded his vision, his serpentine eyes becoming more pronounced.Aziraphale didn’t so much as flinch at his reaction, instead looking at him with calm resignation.

 

“Crowley…”

 

“ _No_!” he hissed, his fangs sharpening marginally as he resisted the urge to shake the other man. “This is _my_ fault, _my_ doing! _I_ misplaced the Antichrist eleven years ago! _I_ convinced you to go along with my asinine plan to try and avert the apocalypse! _I_ killed a Duke of Hell with holy water! _I_ stopped time to help the Antichrist stop Satan! They have no right to… to… _exterminate_ you like some kind of war criminal!”

 

“It was just as much my fault as it was yours.I helped avert the Great War.And Upper Management is not…as forgiving as you might think.”

 

“And what about Her?”

 

Aziraphale’s lip quivered. “I… I don’t know.”

 

Sorrow replaced the hot rage, and Crowley felt himself crumbling to pieces from the inside.Shakily, he drew the angel into his arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

 

Hellfire.His death would be torturous, and not altogether very quick.

 

Memories of the Reign of Terror flew to the front of Crowley’s mind.He recalled the soft glow of the morning sun filtering in through the bars of the Bastille.The hiss of the falling guillotine was nearly drowned out by the cheers and jeers of the crowd that had gathered out in the main square.

 

Crowley had never felt so afraid.He had nothing to lose back then.But this time, they had helped save the world, and now he was about to _lose_ his whole world.

 

“Crowley…”

 

“I thought I lost you to Hellfire once already,” he whimpered, and he felt Aziraphale’s breath hitch. “It felt like they were trying to erase any evidence of your existence.And this time… this time, I… I can’t…”

 

He pulled back, cupping the angel’s face with one hand.Aziraphale gave a little half-hearted smile and turned his cheek into Crowley’s palm.

 

“I know.”

 

“If I…” Desperation clawed at his ribcage, railing against the unfairness of it all.“Angel, if I could somehow go in your place, Tale of Two Cities style, I’d do it in a heartbeat.Anything, _anything_ to keep you from walking to your death.This is not a punishment you deserve.”

 

He picked up Aziraphale’s other hand and kissed his knuckles fervently, his lips grazing over the ring that adorned the angel’s pinky.All other words suddenly fell silent on his tongue at the change in Aziraphale’s expression.The angel looked at him with an awed, dumbstruck clarity, like he was looking beyond Crowley’s physical being, and into the ages behind and before them.

 

“Angel?”

 

Aziraphale blinked.

 

“Sorry.What?”

 

“Don’ be sorry, angel.Something’s on yer mind.What is it?”

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“You’ve got that little furrow between your eyebrows that you get when you’re concentrating really hard.Out with it, come on.”

 

“I’ve… I’ve had a thought.”

 

And Crowley listened.They stood together under the warm shower as Aziraphale outlined his plan.It would take some fine tweaking of details, the demon surmised, but it was a plan.When the angel had finished, stumbling over the last few bits, something warm began to bloom in Crowley’s chest.

 

“What do you think?” asked Aziraphale, scrunching his face up.

 

Overhead, the LEDs cast a warm light over them both, creating a backlit glow behind Aziraphale’s head like a halo.Crowley smiled, a weary but desperately hopeful thing, as water continued to fall down around them.It called him back to their first meeting on the wall of the Garden, just as the first rains began as they watched the two humans take their first steps into a brave new world.

 

“I think,” he said, “That I am damn lucky to have you as a friend.And that you - ” He brushed some the water away from the angel’s face with gentle fingers. “ - are the kindest, craziest, _cleverest_ son of a bitch I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> God dammit, Good Omens has consumed me since its mini-series release. I keep having flashbacks to when I was still in college, reading it for the first time. It is everything I could have dreamed of and more. I live for soft!Crowley and Aziraphale. This contains a bit more angst than I would prefer, but I hope to have some more fluffy stuff coming soon.
> 
> Also, if anyone has a picture of the blueprints to Crowley's flat in Mayfair, I would be most grateful.


End file.
